Charlie
You know I talk too much
honey, come put your lips on mine & shut me up
honey, come put your lips on mine & shut me up
Charlie blinks at him as though he has just asked why the sky gets cloudy sometimes, her expression open and faintly affectionate despite the chaos radiating off him. "We’re Ancients, babe," she says gently, one corner of her mouth lifting. "Planning isn’t really a thing when your goddess is entropy and chaos. You don’t schedule lightning. You just hope you’re not the tallest tree, and if you are? Well, you make do.' She gives him an indulgent little smile as his hands perform increasingly abstract magic gestures in the air, as if he might physically rearrange the mechanics of divine reproduction if he just illustrates it forcefully enough.
His panic climbs higher and higher like a cat scaling curtains, and she watches him with wide, luminous eyes that are both deeply sympathetic and deeply entertained. When he agrees that it’s so fun in a voice that sounds like it’s being actively waterboarded, she hums brightly as though he has just complimented the weather.
Then he commits to both mother and child, and the colour drains from his face so fast Charlie barely has time to brace before he tips backward like a felled tree and hits the shrine floor with a solid thud. She exhales softly, fondness flooding her features as she kneels beside him and brushes a bit of hair out of his face with careful fingers. "Oh, Kaisel,' she murmurs, leaning down to press a delicate kiss to the tip of his nose. Her lips linger there for a breath as she whispers, conspiratorial and pleased, "You’re very gullible."
The grin that follows is wicked and entirely unapologetic. In a fluid shimmer of shifting flesh and heat, her form ripples and expands, black dress and curls dissolving into rock-plated armour and ember-lit seams as she becomes a fyrhund. The shrine floor trembles faintly beneath her weight as she lowers her enormous head, clamps careful teeth into the collar of Kaisel’s shirt, and begins dragging his limp body across the stone with surprising gentleness for something that bleeds lava.
She hauls him toward one of the nearby side rooms with practical efficiency, because the last thing she needs is some overly devout supplicant mistaking his unconscious form for an especially enthusiastic offering. The door nudges open beneath her weight, and she deposits him safely inside before shifting back moments later, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress as though she hasn’t just dragged a full-grown man across sacred flooring.
~FIN
His panic climbs higher and higher like a cat scaling curtains, and she watches him with wide, luminous eyes that are both deeply sympathetic and deeply entertained. When he agrees that it’s so fun in a voice that sounds like it’s being actively waterboarded, she hums brightly as though he has just complimented the weather.
Then he commits to both mother and child, and the colour drains from his face so fast Charlie barely has time to brace before he tips backward like a felled tree and hits the shrine floor with a solid thud. She exhales softly, fondness flooding her features as she kneels beside him and brushes a bit of hair out of his face with careful fingers. "Oh, Kaisel,' she murmurs, leaning down to press a delicate kiss to the tip of his nose. Her lips linger there for a breath as she whispers, conspiratorial and pleased, "You’re very gullible."
The grin that follows is wicked and entirely unapologetic. In a fluid shimmer of shifting flesh and heat, her form ripples and expands, black dress and curls dissolving into rock-plated armour and ember-lit seams as she becomes a fyrhund. The shrine floor trembles faintly beneath her weight as she lowers her enormous head, clamps careful teeth into the collar of Kaisel’s shirt, and begins dragging his limp body across the stone with surprising gentleness for something that bleeds lava.
She hauls him toward one of the nearby side rooms with practical efficiency, because the last thing she needs is some overly devout supplicant mistaking his unconscious form for an especially enthusiastic offering. The door nudges open beneath her weight, and she deposits him safely inside before shifting back moments later, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress as though she hasn’t just dragged a full-grown man across sacred flooring.
~FIN
Hella golden retriever energy. Small unrefined horns made of ruby. Regular spade-shaped tail.
